When she looks at me, it’s like the sun is in my chest and the light is pouring through my skin. The joy burns my soul. This is right. This is good.
I pull into the driveway and yawn. Phoebe steps out, and freezes.
It’s then I notice the front door is hanging open.
Chapter Twelve
Phoebe
My door is open.
Something is off. Some instinct tugs at my brain. It’s like someone dumped cold water over my head. I hear myself say, “Stay here,” to Alex, but it’s like no one said it.
He starts to take a step and I turn to him, thrusting out my hand in a gesture of command.
“I said stay here.”
I pop the retention strap on my small-of-the-back holster and pull out my sidearm. I hold it low and to my side, so I can stash it if I’m wrong, before Carrie sees me with it and gets upset. There has to be a logical explanation why my front door would be open at close to midnight.
I just can’t think of one.
Ascending the front steps slowly to avoid them creaking, I pad across the porch. Only when I set my foot on the cold metal lip of the front door do I realize I forgot to put on my shoes. I adjust my grip on my piece.
It’s dark in the house. I sweep into the living room and check the corners.
I see Alex behind me. I motion for him to stop, and touch my finger to my lips.
I’ll clear the downstairs first. I check the living room, sticking close to the walls, eyeing the corners before I move on. It’s empty and the television is off.
There’s a soft sound in the kitchen, like a whisper. It grows louder. I edge closer. There’s no light inside besides the faint glow of the clocks on the stove and microwave. Why is it dark and where is everyone? Why is the door open? Did Grace take Phoebe from the house? Why didn’t they call?
Stop. It. Phoebe.
I take a deep breath, settle myself. Focus. I duck close to the kitchen door.
A noise blasts from behind me. I whip around, raising my sidearm.
It’s just the TV. Someone…Someone turned the sound back on.
I spin back toward the dining room, but I’m too late. Someone crashes into me, falls on top of me and pins my wrists to the side. There’s a tangle of hair in my face and I smell cigarettes and cheap shitty perfume that smells like my grandmother’s house, and body odor.
Her wild eyes stare into mine. It’s her, Alex’s stalker.
She’s bigger but I’m stronger. I put all my strength into rising and shove her off me.
“Where is my daughter?” I snarl.
A hand knots in my hair and pulls back hard. I scream at the pain in my scalp, and Sarah charges me. She shoves my arms up, pinning my gun over my head.
Something cold and metal touches my throat.
“Let go of the gun,” a male voice says.
No. No no no no no no…
“Do it, cutie.”
My fingers relax and Sarah pries the gun out of my hands. She holds it in hers, testing its weight.
“You really thought you could keep my kid from me, you scheming bitch.”
It’s him.
David.
“Move or I’ll cut your throat. Make a noise and I’ll kill you.”
He pulls me into the dining room and shoves me into a seat. The knife nicks my throat. I feel its bite, then a warm trickle down to my collarbone.
“Cover her.”
Grace sits at the far end of the table, a rag stuffed in her mouth. She has a black eye and old clothesline is wrapped around and around her from her shoulders down to her waist, binding her to the chair. She gives me a horrifying pleading look of apology as Sarah points the gun at her head.
“I should shoot her,” Sarah mumbles. “She’s hurting him. I know she’s hurting him.”
“Not yet,” David says.
He steps in front of me so I can see him, and touches Carrie’s hair. He has my daughter tied to the chair with a strip of duct tape over her mouth. There’s a bruise on the side of her head. He hit her.
He hit her.
Sarah pushes the muzzle of my gun into my head.
“Where’s the other one?” David snaps. “The big guy.”
He looks the same as he did before, just older. Hollow cheeks, long stringy brown hair, a tiger-stripe camouflage jacket and loose pants. His hands are covered with scabs, and the drugs have been hard on him. His eyes are dark and sunken.
“Here we are with my nice happy family,” he says, skimming his filthy hand over my little girl’s hair. “Mommy and daddy and my precious little pumpkin.”
“What do you want?”
“I want my kid.”
Carrie trembles in her seat. Grace pleads with me, her eyes full of silent appeal.
David walks down the length of the table and sets his scabby hand on Grace’s shoulder.
“I’m taking this one with me. I was going to bring you, but I figure I’ll trade up for the younger model.”
Grace thrashes in the chair. Until David backhands her, almost knocking her over. A bruise already rises on her cheek.
“Can I shoot her now?” Sarah says, wild rage burning in her eyes.
“No,” he offers her the knife. “Use this.”
“What the fuck?” Alex roars.
Sarah whips around and aims the gun at him. I writhe in my chair, straining at the ropes. David grabs at the gun but Sarah pushes him away and raises it high, aiming at Alex’s head.
“What are you doing here?” she demands. “Wait outside while I take care of this. Then we can go home.”
“What are you doing here?” Alex snaps, glancing at me.
What is he doing?
Sarah laughs. “What do you mean? You sent the man to get me out.”
“I did. Oh, yes, I did,” David says, as if he can’t believe she’s buying this. “Was it the right guy?”
“He said his name was Lou, but I’m not supposed to tell you that,” Sarah says, giggling. “Oops. He brought a lawyer and they got me out of the jail.”
David runs his hand over my head. He rests it on my neck and plunges it down into my top and squeezes my breast, hard. Painfully.
Alex jerks forward and Sarah jabs the gun at him. He puts up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“Sarah, I know you don’t want to hurt anybody.”
“I don’t care about anybody. I care about you.” She jabs the gun in his face and he takes a step back.
“Okay. You don’t want to hurt me, do you? If you shoot me with that, I’ll die.”
“Get in the chair,” David snaps. “We need to tie him up.”
“Are you crazy?” Sarah hisses. “He’ll snap the ropes. Look at him. Besides, he’s coming with us. I love him.”
“Whatever,” David snarls. “Just take him outside and love him there so I can get these cunts in the van.”
“Watch your fucking language,” Alex bellows.
Sarah flinches.
I cringe. Jesus, if she twitches on that trigger she’ll put a bullet in his chest.
“Alex,” I say. “Get out. Don’t get shot.”
“Shut up,” David snaps.
He slaps the back of my head, hard. It stings, but I roll with it. I wriggle back and forth in the chair. I feel the ropes starting to give some slack. They’re just clothesline from the basement. Old clothesline I piled up one day after I took it down. How strong can it be?
Strong enough to hold me. Tears well in my eyes. I can’t let this happen.
Alex takes a step forward.
“If you love me, you’ll put down the gun, Sarah.”
“He’s right,” David says, cheerfully. “I’ll hold it for you.”
Sarah falters, the gun drooping in her hands.
“Let me have it,” David says.
“Okay,” Alex whispers. I don’t know if he’s talking to me or himself.
A person of his size should not be able to move so fast. He almost blurs. He barrels into Sarah and crashes
her into David and in the scuffle, my chair tips.
I arch my back and twist to soften the blow, but my head rings from bouncing on the linoleum floor, stars dancing in my vision. I feel wetness. I think my scalp is cut.
I thrash against the ropes, the chair squeaking and creaking against the floor. All I can see is a tangled mass. Sarah thrusts the gun at Alex like she means to hit him with it, screaming why, why, why. He pins her hand down and tries to pry it loose from her grip.
Then David takes his knife and rams it into the back of Alex’s arm, and twists. Alex howls in agony and rage, but doesn’t let go. He swings his other arm in a savage closed-fist backhand that knocks David away from him and into the wall so hard it makes Carrie’s kindergarten graduation photo fall to the floor. The glass shatters.
David gets up, clutching his head, knife held in his hand ready to stab. I kick the chair around and shove the legs between his feet, and he goes down on top of me.
“You fucking whore!” he snarls.
Alex is bleeding badly, blood gushing down his arm. He rips the gun out of Sarah’s hand, and she screams as her fingers break, pop, pop.
Alex actually says, “I’m sorry,” freezing for a moment.
David launches himself at him, grabbing at the gun. Alex is losing the strength in his massive arm. There’s so much blood, I don’t know how there can be any left. I writhe and thrash, screaming at the ropes.
The knife is on the ground. David must have dropped it.
Alex struggles. David knees him in the groin and shoves him back. Alex starts to stand, to push the gun down, but his eyes widen in horror when he realizes that if he aims it at David he might hit Grace or Carrie.
David reaches behind his back with his free hand as Alex shoves him down. A small, leaf-shaped blade appears in his fist, jutting from between his fingers.
He punches Alex in the stomach, and his hand comes back wet with blood. Alex grabs at David’s arm. David twists to try to free himself.
I roll, and the chair cracks down on top of David’s knife. I feel for it but I can’t get the grip. My hand’s close on the blade and it bites me, red and hot. I pry it out from under the seat of the chair and fumble with it. My side is wet with blood where I cut myself shoving the blade under the ropes. I saw frantically as Alex sags against the wall, all the color gone from his face.
David is peeling the gun out of his hand, pushing it around to face him. He’s going to shoot him in the head.
Sarah throws herself at him at the last second, and knocks him off Alex. David struggles with her. She’s thin and wiry but no match for him. My gun presses into her chest.
The sound is louder than the world. Grace and Carrie shriek through their gags.
Sarah drops, clutching her chest and sucking in air through her mouth and her wound at the same time. A distant part of my brain says: She took a bullet through the lung. If she doesn’t get an ambulance, she’ll die.
Sarah looks at me. She wrenches the knife out of my hand. With the last of her strength, she cuts me loose.
I roll free, grab the knife, and ram it into David’s back, right between the shoulder blades. It hurts too much for him to cry out.
He pushes against me. His hands flinched open when I stuck in the knife, and he dropped my gun.
He snarls and grabs at me with shocking strength, but I’m slippery with sweat and blood and he can’t get ahold of me.
“You have the right to remain silent!” I shriek, and ram the knife in his gut, “you have the right to an attorney,” I scream, “anything you say can be used against you in a court of law!”
I raise the knife up and ram it down with both hands, and throw the whole weight of my body into it. The blade crushes through his chest, slipping between his ribs, and it doesn’t stop until the tip bites into the linoleum under him.
David has nothing to say. His mouth is too full of his own blood. His head falls back with a thump.
“Alex!” I scream, “Alex, oh God,”
He clutches his arm but he’s bleeding from a dozen shallow wounds in his stomach, blood soaking his shirt and pants.
Sarah lies on the floor, moaning.
I yank the knife out of David and run to Grace, cut the ropes and yank the rags out of her mouth.
“Call the police, now!”
Grace wails, “You are the police!” and starts sobbing.
I shake her by the shoulders.
“Get on the phone and dial 911 now or he’s going to die, goddamn it!”
She blinks at me and nods, and rushes to the kitchen phone and yanks it off the hook.
I grab my sleeve, rip it loose, and knot it around his arm wound, then grab the knife and cut away his shirt.
Alex leans back against the wall.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“No no no no no, you’re not sorry, you’re not leaving,” I plead. “Stay awake.”
“Tired.”
“I know you’re tired but--”
He cuts me off with a moan as I tighten a cut strip of his shirt around his middle, trying to staunch the blood.
“Hurts like a motherfucker.”
“Grace, get Carrie up and get her out of here,” I shout at her. “Take the phone.”
Grace cuts Carrie loose and leads her, sobbing like mad, into the living room.
Sarah grabs Alex’s foot.
“Don’t die, please,” she says.
Alex rolls his eyes at her. “I’ll do as I damn well please.”
“You are not dying!” I shout at him. “Come on, where’s the damn ambulance.”
Panic tightens in me, my breath coming faster and faster, until I hear voices and Grace shouting “Here, here, in here!”
The paramedics come rushing in.
The first word out of the taller one’s mouth is “Jesus.”
I get out of their way, but hold Alex’s hand. They need my help to get him on the gurney, and then wheel him into the ambulance. I grab Carrie and carry her out with me.
They stop me.
“We need room to work. Follow us to the hospital.”
“Grace, with me,” I yell.
She sits in the passenger’s seat of the Tahoe holding Carrie in her lap while I drive behind the ambulance with my lights and sirens going. I run after them inside until one of the nurses stops me as they roll Alex into triage.
“Let us handle this,” she tells me.
Handle it. Handle it.
God, I’m soaked in blood. There’s so much, it stiffens my clothes. Carrie is screaming and crying, Grace is holding her and staring at nothing. I want to hold my daughter, but I can’t like this.
Every cop in the world shows up. Howard, Jim, a bunch of state troopers. Hailey and Frank appear. The emergency room fills with people.
Jim puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Hey. Let’s get you and Grace cleaned up and calm Carrie down. We’ll go to my place. Come on. It’s not far.”
“But…”
“You’re not going to save him or not save him,” he says. “Let the docs work. I’ll bring you back. You’re hurt too, Phoebe. We need to get you cleaned up.”
He drives us all to his house in his old Crown Vic. His wife, Carol Ann, takes Carrie and sits with her while I shower the blood off me. I split my scalp when I fell, but it scabbed over, and the cut on my side only requires a bandage. My hands are worse. I have deep cuts on my fingers.
“You don’t need stitches for these most likely,” Jim says, wrapping them in bandages. “I stopped the bleeding. We’ll let the docs take a look. Come on.”
When Jim takes us back to the hospital, the reporters arrive. Bill and Jim push a path through everyone so I can get inside with Carrie and Grace.
Inside, I find the same balding, portly guy I saw at Alex’s trial with his lawyer.
“You,” I snarl.
I gently hand Carrie to Grace. She locks her arms around her aunt’s neck and they sink into a chair.
“You got Alex’
s stalker out of jail. Did you tell my ex where to find me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but his eyes give away the lie.
“You got her out of jail and you told David where to find us.”
“I got her an attorney. It’s her right. Nothing wrong with that.”
“What about David?”
“He must watch TV. I guess you haven’t. Broadside dating the cop that busted him is all over TV. Very cute, nice human interest story. It’ll be great for his career.”
I nod. Then I punch him in the face as hard as I can. He drops back on his ass, clutching his broken, gushing nose.
“You crady bidtch!” he wails, “You brode my node!”
“Get him out of here.”
Jim and Frank yank him to his feet and drag him outside.
“I wand to pred chardes,” he moans.
“Shut up,” Jim replies. “Get everybody that isn’t family out of here. Now.”
They clear the waiting room, and I sit with Grace and hold Carrie in my lap. She’s finally stopped crying, but she says nothing, just clutching me, playing with the fabric of my dress in her fingers.
It’s a long wait. Hours.
A doctor comes out, tells us he’s in surgery.
By the time they come back, Carrie is asleep. Grace went to give a statement to the police, leaving me alone with my daughter for a while. The waiting room is dark.
The doctor returns. I vaguely know him. I think I went to high school with his nephew, something like that.
“It was touch and go for a while, but he’s going to make it. He’s going to be off his feet for a good long time. The cuts to his abdomen weren’t deep, but he needs a long period of bed rest. The wound on his arm was the worst. He’ll be in a sling for a good long while.
“How is he now? Is he awake?”
“Yes. We numbed him while we worked. Once the blood transfusions are complete, we can give him something for the pain. He’s in agony, miss. It’s best not to…”
“Let me see him.”
“It’s better if the little girl stays back.”
I nod, and hand Carrie off to Grace as she comes in.
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